She took to devising ways of avoiding their lust. One evening she insisted they all accompany her home. Another evening she cried off with the headache and remained home. A third she grew ill early on in the evening and, loudly insisting her escort remain at the gambling tables, went home alone. And all the while she smiled, and twinkled, and flirted with each of them until each was convinced he would be the winner of her hand.
The banns having been read the required number of times, Polly and John were married on a Monday morning by a local vicar. Lucinda had given them both the day off. She stood as one of their witnesses, afterward walking back to Traleigh Square with two footmen in attendance, leaving the newly-weds to themselves for the day. Her household was all agog with her generosity and her kindness to the two servants.
"She's a real lady," the cook said that evening in the servants' hall. "We're lucky, we are!"
Several days before the Whitley ball, John told his mistress that the Earl of Stanton had arrived at Lord Bowen's house. They would be at the musicale at Lord Carstairs' this evening. Now was her chance to see what he really looked like, Lucinda thought happily. She had missed him, and she had missed his passion. She dressed carefully that evening, her gown in the latest fashionable hue, a flame color called "Burnt Opera House." With her pale skin and her rich, dark chestnut hair, she was quite striking.
Her escort that evening was the marquess. As he was not the brightest of fellows, she was able to ask him in innocent tones, "Who is the Earl of Stanton, Hamlet dearest? I hear he breeds wonderful horses, and I am thinking of purchasing a mare for myself. My footman, John, said he is staying at Lord Bowen's."
The Marquess of Hargrave looked about the salon. "Stan-ton up from the country? I don't think he's been to London in ten years. A bit of a recluse, but you're right, darling girl, he breeds good horseflesh. Ahh, there he is, next to Bowen, with that lovely piece of fluff hanging on his every word. Lady Grayson is said to be very generous with her favors. Elderly husband, y'know. Would you like to be introduced, Lucinda?"
"Not really," Lucinda said, sounding bored. "I am not ready yet to buy, and when I am, perhaps it is my husband who will gift me with a mare." She smiled up at him meaningfully and tapped his arm archly with her ivory fan, even as her lashes brushed her cheek. Then after a few minutes she asked him to allow her to sit quietly in the rear of the salon as she was feeling faint.
"Can I get you anything, Lucinda?" he fretted.
"Perhaps a bit of champagne," she told him weakly, and he hurried off. Lucinda scanned the room swiftly, and then she saw him again. She was utterly astounded. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen in her life. His face was angular and sculpted. His cheekbones high, his chin a square. She hadn't noticed when he was masked how square his chin really was. He had a long, elegant nose. His eyebrows were thick and as black as his wavy hair. The forehead high. The seductive mouth she well remembered, but without his mask he was an entirely different man. All his features came together magnificently. What on earth had John meant by saying he was nice-looking. Lucian Phillips, the Earl of Stanton, was a God! They were going to have the most beautiful children.
"Here is your champagne," the marquess said, returning.
She waved him away. "Take me home, Hamlet," she told him. "I am much too ill to remain. My temples are throbbing, and Master Bach's music will only make it worse, I fear."
They made their apologies to Lord and Lady Carstairs. Their hostess remarked pithily once they had departed, "I wonder if she's really got the headache or is simply eager to get into bed with her marquess. Like everyone else in London, I can barely wait for the Whitley ball to learn whom she has chosen."
"The betting at White's is phenomenal," Lord Carstairs told his spouse. "It's two to one on the marquess, and even money on Rexford. Bertram is the long shot at ten to one. She's a fine-looking woman, and whoever she picks, she'll bring him a nice fortune. Harrington left her everything. If I'd known how plump in the pockets he was, I'd have let him court our Livinia."
Overhearing his host, Lord Bowen told his friend, the Earl of Stanton, "She has the town agog. She's a clever bitch, I think. She's given no indication of whom she will favor in the end. Was she fun, Lucian?"
"You know I don't discuss such matters," the Earl of Stanton said coolly. His heart had almost burst through his flowered vest when he had first seen her. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. Would she really be able to recognize him at the Whitley ball? He now regretted his decision not to reveal his face to her that last night.
The next morning flowers were delivered to Lucinda, an armful of roses and lilies. The plain card with them said simply, Robert. She tucked it in her pocket, smiling to herself as she directed a maid to find a vase for the flowers so she might arrange them for the morning room.
The day before the Whitley ball Lucinda paid an afternoon call on the Countess of Whitley, Lady Anne. Seated in the august lady's salon, she said, "I have a rather unusual favor to ask of you, madame," and then she explained. "It must, however, remain a secret until the last moment," she concluded her request.
"My dear!" the countess exclaimed. "You have a marvelous flair for the dramatic. The knowledge alone that you will have George announce your betrothal at my ball guaranteed it to be the most sought-after invitation of the autumn season. Why, even the king is coming! This, however, will have those who don't gain entry tomorrow night fleeing back to their country estates in abject shame." The Countess of Whitley chuckled richly. "Lucinda, my dear, you shall be the sucés fou of the year with this amusing coup." Then she leaned closer to her guest. "Will you tell me who it is?" she said eagerly.
"Tomorrow night," Lucinda replied, her blue eyes twinkling.
"You are such a naughty puss," the countess chortled archly.
Lucinda arrived home to find her brother and his wife had arrived from the country. Caroline was only just out of childbed, having delivered a third son, Frederick Augustus, three weeks earlier.
"George and I want you and your husband to be Freddie's godparents," Caroline said cheerfully. /
"I am certain that can be arranged," Lucinda replied. Then when her sister-in-law went upstairs to rest, she took her brother aside. "I want you to obtain a special license immediately," she told him.
"What's this?" the Bishop of Wellington demanded of her.
"Is it not plain, Georgie? I want a special license so I may be married. Don't you want me married? I thought that's what my summer was all about. To bring me to my senses so I would remarry."
"But I thought…" he began to bluster.
"I know what you thought. You thought I should announce my betrothal and then have a large society wedding," Lucinda said.
"Yes, I did," her brother replied. "After all, your first marriage to Harrington was a small and mean affair. I thought this time you would want something more grand, Luci." He actually looked disappointed, his round face downcast.
"It shall be grand, Georgie, which is why I need a special license, and lord knows I am plump enough in the pocket to afford it," she laughed. "Tomorrow night you will announce my betrothal, and then you will marry me to my intended right there at the Whitley ball. I have already spoken with Lady Anne, and she is thrilled. It seems my behavior has made her little do a huge success even before it is held. She is convinced my marrying in the midst of her ball will raise her to the rank of an unforgettable hostess. A special license allows me to marry without the bother of banns, and in any location, as long as a clergyman performs the ceremony."
"But what will your intended say? And who is your intended, Luci?" the bishop wanted to know.
"Any man who wants to marry me will do so when offered the first opportunity, Georgie. As for who he is, I have said I will not tell even you until the time comes. Be satisfied, brother. After all, you are getting what you wanted. And, I no longer shall be your responsibility shortly." She patted his arm. "You must trust me, dearest. I can hardly do anything too awful amid Lond
on's creme de la creme."
"Well," the bishop reasoned, "it will certainly be talked of for years to come, Luci. Very well, you shall have your special license, my dear. You have, after all, been a very good girl. I was worried leaving you alone here in London these past six weeks, but I am given to understand that your behavior has been exemplary. There has not been even the slightest hint of scandal."
"Thank you, Georgie," Lucinda replied, amused by his comment. "Now I must leave you. I have a final fitting on my ball gown for tomorrow night."
The bishop smiled, well pleased as she departed the salon. She had always been a minx, his younger sister, but her summer had obviously done her good. He had felt a touch of guilt putting her in the hands of The Master, but obviously it had done her no real harm. While she might still be a bit headstrong, she appeared to be far more reasonable in her attitude.
Her plans for her wedding might be a bit eccentric, but she was right when she said any man she wanted to wed would wed her given the first opportunity. Besides, Lucinda had obviously planned this event most carefully. It was best not to argue with her in this instance. All of the most important people would be there tomorrow night. It would be quite entertaining. And, once she was married, there was no going back. Lucinda would be her husband's problem.
The next day the household was very busy preparing for the ball. The ladies' gowns were checked for any last-minute problems. The skirts ironed perfectly, and the dresses hung carefully. The baths were brought after tea, and the ladies began to prepare for the evening's entertainment. The ball wouldn't begin until nine, and to be precisely on time would be unthinkable, for the hostess and her private party might not be finished dining. The guests would be arriving closer to ten.
Lucinda bathed, and then lay down to rest. Polly would, awaken her at half after eight. Lucinda's gown was, she thought, a triumph. She had insisted her modiste come to Traleigh Square and work on it so no one else would see it before the ball. The silvery pink quilted underskirt was hand-painted with delicate wild flowers. The silver overgown was embroidered with the same flowers. The neckline was low-cut and square. The bodice, finely tucked, had three silver bows decorating it. The engageants, attached to the tightly fitted sleeves, were of pale pink lace and decorated with one silver bow each. The skirts came just to her ankle, revealing her pink silk dancing shoes with their silver buckles. Her jewelry was simple. Pink diamonds in her ears and a small pearl and diamond cross about her neck.
"Ohh, m'lady," Polly said admiringly, "'tis a beautiful gown."
"It is, isn't it?" Lucinda agreed. Then she patted her hair. "I like what you have done," she told her maid.
"Jessie, her that is replacing me, showed me how, m'lady. She is very clever with hair. She calls this style a Pompadour Hairdress."
"It suits me," Lucinda decided aloud, turning her head this way and that. It was really a simple style for all it had been named after the French king's latest mistress. Her rich, dark chestnut hair was combed back from her forehead, and a few curls were then displayed on the side of her head, seemingly pinned with a pink diamond fan.
A knock sounded at the door, and George Worth's head popped into the room. "Are you ready, Luci? It's quarter to ten o'clock."
Polly wrapped a rose velvet pelisse trimmed with dark fur along its hood about her mistress and then handed her a large matching fur muff. "Yer painted fan is in it, and a lawn handkerchief, m'lady."
"Make certain the bed is remade with lavender-scented linens, and the wine tray on the table," Lucinda told her maid softly.
"John and I will have it just right, m'lady," Polly said with a wink.
Lucinda's town coach pulled into the long line of carriages waiting to enter the Whitley mansion. Finally they arrived at the door and were handed out of the vehicle by footmen in black-and-gold livery.
"You have the license?" Lucinda asked her brother for the tenth time.
He pulled it from his pocket and waved it beneath her nose. "Are you ready to tell me yet who is the fortunate gentleman, Luci?"
"Not yet," Lucinda said as they entered the house. She and Caroline, who looked quite lovely in several shades of blue, had their cloaks taken by a little maid. They then rejoined George and waited to be announced into the ballroom.
"The most honorable George Worth, Bishop of Wellington, and Mistress Worth. Lady Lucinda Harrington," the major-domo intoned.
Every eye in the great ballroom swung in their direction, and for a brief moment there was utter silence.
"My dears," the Countess of Whitley welcomed them, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. "I ordered extra flowers, Lucinda darling."
George bowed. His two companions curtsied. Lucinda murmured a soft thank-you. Her heart was pounding wildly. As she passed into the ballroom, she looked about her anxiously. Where was he? She couldn't see him anywhere. Dear heaven! Had he decided at the last moment not to come? She saw the Duke of Rexford trying to catch her eye. Lucinda turned away and sought the necessary behind the screen in a corner of the room. She didn't need it; she just wanted to escape her suitors. She allowed herself a few minutes, and then emerged.
"Lord Derek Bowen. Lord Lucian Phillips, Earl of Stanton," the major domo called out.
Relieved, she saw them enter the ballroom. She began to make her way across the ballroom only to be blocked by her three suitors. "My lords," she said in a tight voice.
"It is time for you tell us, Lucinda," the Duke of Rexford said. "You have played this game and held us at bay for long enough."
"Not yet!" she snapped at them and, pushing past the three, once again sought the Earl of Stanton. Reaching him at last, she put her arm through his and looking up at him said, "The flowers were beautiful."
"I thought they suited you," he replied.
"I told you I would find you," she responded. God, he was so handsome.
"And indeed you have, Lucinda. Now what?" His green eyes were gazing deeply into her blue ones.
"We will be married," Lucinda told him frankly.
"I am not certain I should wed such a lively lass as yourself, Lucinda. After all, I never could master you," he teased her with a grin.
"You are the only man who has even the faintest chance of mastering me, Lucian Charles Phillips. Do you not love me?"
"Oh, yes, Lucinda, I love you desperately," he admitted. "But do you love me, my pet?"
"So much that I was ill when I arrived and you were not here," she told him. "So much that my brother carries a special license in his pocket tonight so he may wed us here and now. Then we shall leave this ball and spend the next few hours in a glorious bout of fucking, my darling master."
"I have missed you," he told her, and bending brushed her lips with his. "Your scheme has great merit, my pet. I agree to it. I think, perhaps, it is time I met the worthy bishop."
"What is going on?" Lord Bowen asked of them.
"Come along, Derek, and you will see," the earl invited.
As they made their way across the ballroom to find George, they were accosted by Lucinda's three suitors, angrily demanding explanations.
Lucinda stopped. "You will get nothing more from me, my Lords," she told them in a hard, cold voice. "I said tonight my brother would announce my betrothal, and so he shall. To the Earl of Stanton. The gentleman I fell in love with this summer past when in Ireland at my sister Julia's. We will be wed tonight, here and now! If any of you dares to object, I shall expose the Devil's Disciples and your part in that shameless band of lustful men."
"What of your part, Lucinda?" Lord Bertram said.
"I would remind you three that you still need wives to carry on your family name. How do you think the guardians of next season's crop of dewy-eyed debutantes will feel about your wicked activities? How do you think they will react to the knowledge that you kidnapped a gentlewoman, forcing her into carnal bondage, in order to make her choose one of you for a husband? You would be wise, I believe, to hold your tongues and accept my decision … or suffer the co
nsequences. "
Lord Bertram bowed. "I retire from the field defeated, Lady Lucinda," he said graciously.
Lucinda nodded as graciously, then said to the Marquess of Hargrave, "The Earl of Felton's daughter, Louisa, has a tendré for you, Hamlet. You might have noticed her last season but that I came on the horizon. She is here tonight. I believe she would welcome your addresses. A lady likes nothing more than to comfort a worthy loser."
"She isn't as pretty as you, Lucinda," the marquess said forlornly.
"No, but she has a kind heart and would love you if you would let her." Lucinda gave him her hand. "Goodbye, Hamlet."
"Bitch!" snarled the Duke of Rexford. "I am fortunate to have seen your true colors in time!" Then he turned and angrily walked away from Lucinda, the earl, and Lord Bowen.
They continued across the crowded room, finally finding the bishop.
"Get out the license, Georgie," Lucinda told her brother. "The name is Lucian Robert Charles Phillips, Earl of Stan-ton."
Startled, the bishop looked at the earl. "Luscious Lucian!" George Worth exclaimed.
"You know each other?" Lucinda said, surprised.
"We were in the same house at Eton, but Lucian was several years younger than I was. We called him Luscious Lucian because he was frankly the handsomest fellow any of us had ever seen. The women were mad for him, even as a lad of twelve. It has been years, sir!" Then the bishop looked to his sister. "This is the man you will marry? What has happened to the others? How did you meet?"
"Why, we met, Georgie," Lucinda said wickedly, "thanks to you, this summer, at Julia's. Lucian was there to look over some of Rafferty's hunters. We fell in love, but I didn't want to tell you because you so had your heart set on my giving the other three another chance. Well, I did, but I have decided that Lucian is the man for me. You had best make the announcement and marry us, for we are both eager to leave on our honeymoon."
Caroline Worth, who had been listening, wide-eyed, to all of Luanda's explanations, began to weep delicately. "This is the most romantic story I have ever heard. Oh, darling Luci, I hope you will be as happy with your husband as I am with mine!"
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